


Falling

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, Bisexual Female Character, Cute, F/F, Femlock, Fluff, Fluffy, Fun, Genderbending, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, LGBTQ, LGBTQ Female Character, Lesbian, Lesbian Character, Lesbians, actually not happy at all, fem!lock, less than happy ending, lets see who i upset with my shitty writing, lol, mentions of drug use, the gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-10-09 15:13:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 8,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10415004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sherlock had picked out the ring weeks ago.It was perfect, a thin silver band with the word forever etched on the inside.She already knew Joan's ring size, had deduced it the day after they met, and already knew when she was going to ask.It was all lined up amazingly.Like an immaculate tower of cards.Oh but it only takes a push of the wind to blow down even the highest tower.And how it would blow.A/NFem!lock auI'm terrible johnlock trash but also a lesbian so oops there's pretty much the entire reason I'm writing this. I have a rough idea of where I want to go with this and updates should be relatively frequent unless Benedict Cumberbatch himself shows up at my house and demands I stop writing.y e p





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just so you guys know, the plot of this is no where near related to the canon of the story, aside from a few of the characters, so don't expect it to be just the BBC Sherlock story, but with lesbians.

Joan stepped as quietly as possible out of their bedroom, closing the door with a barely audible click. It was the first time in weeks Sherlock had gotten more than 2 hours of sleep, and Joan intended to make every second of it count. 

  
She stepped into the kitchen, half sliding half stepping across the wooden floors. She poured enough water for two into the kettle and set it onto a Bunsen left on the table, deciding against using the oven for fear of what was left in the simmering pot left over it.    
  
Joan stood less than a foot away from the kettle as the water heated up, ready to wisk it off the second the tea was done. After about three minutes, the water was done and Joan pulled it off, making herself a nice cup of Earl Grey.    
  
She had barely started to lift the cup up to her lips when a pair of arms snaked around her waist, making Joan jump slightly.    
  
She grinned. "Morning Sherlie."   
  
"It's Sherlock." came a groggy voice from behind her. Sherlock's head came down onto her shoulder, wisps of black curls falling down over Joan's chest.    
  
"8 hours. New record for you." Joan said, starting to pull away.    
  
The second she started to move forward Sherlock's hands tightened around her waist, keeping the two of them frozen in place frozen together in the kitchen.    
  
"I like you when you're tired." Joan said, leaning her head slightly back. "You're sweeter."   
  
"I'll try not to do it as often." came a muffled voice.    
  
Joan hummed in response, taking a sip of the gradually cooling tea. She took one more small drink of it before setting the cup down and the counter and spinning around to face Sherlock, the two of them positioned like a pair of dancers.   
  
Sherlock looked down at her, eyes still thick with the haze of sleep. "Hello."   
  
"Hello love."    
  
Joan spun slowly with Sherlock, the two of them dancing in silence around the kitchen.    
  
"I had lots of fun last night." Joan half whispered.   
  
"Me too," Sherlock hummed in response.    
  
"It's still a little surprising that you haven't run out of places to go on dates after 2 years."   
  
"I have connections."   
  
"You have a sister in the British government."   
  
"Same thing."   
  
Joan slipped out of Sherlock's hands, picking up her tea and walking over to take a seat on the couch.    
  
"I have to go to the clinic today."   
  
"Why?" Sherlock said, starting to wake up. "We don't need the money."   
  
"You may not, but I do. Someone has to buy the groceries."   
  
Sherlock frowned but didn't respond, instead flopping down on the couch besides Joan.    
  
"How long for?"   
  
"Only about 5 hours. We're usually not that busy around this time of the year."   
  
Sherlock changed to lying down, her head resting in Joan's lap. "I could come visit you."   
  
"I'll text you if you can stop by."   
  
"Or I could just stop by anyway."   
  
Joan grinned. "I do have to actually do my job you know. Not just entertain my bored girlfriend.  Besides you need a case anyway. See if Lestraud has something?"    
  
Sherlock sighed. "I'll ask but it's doubtful they'll have anything worth my time."   
  
"Just asking is good enough."    
  
Joan glanced at the watch on Sherlock's wrist. "Shit. I gotta get ready."    
  
Joan jumped up, jogging to the bedroom.   
  
Sherlock's head thumped down onto the couch. The cushions were a poor Joan substitute.    
  
After a moment she stood up, walking towards the closed bedroom door. She had barely put her hand on the door handle when it swung open, Joan running out wearing haphazardly thrown on work clothes.  She spun around after getting one foot out the door. She gave Sherlock a quick kiss and a rushed "love you" before running down the stairs and out the door.  Sherlock sighed, listening to her footsteps disappear into the distance.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is kinda a short chapter but whatever. I posted the first one a little over an hour ago, and I ALREADY HAVE 17 HITS JEEZE. I mean i have no way of knowing if any one actually read this or just accidently clicked on it, but still. I'll take it as a win. Hope you enjoy!

Sherlock lifted her head up from the desk to glance at the file Lestraud had set on the table. 

Supposed suicide. Locked room. Written note. 

Obviously a murder.

Sherlock sighed and set her head back down in her arms. 

"Jealous ex. Murder."

Lestraud pulled the file back, shaking his head. "That's 5 cases in less than an hour. I still don't know how you do it."

Sherlock grumbled something under her breath. "Do you have anything actually worth my time?"

"Depends on what you consider worth your time." he said, marking something on a paper in front of him. "I'll send an officer to go talk to the girl's family, find out who the ex might have been. Do you want to know if you're right?"

"I am."

"Of course."

Sherlock sat up, blowing a wisp of hair out of her eyes and leaned back in the chair. 

"Nothing fun has happened in months."

"Well you and Joan are having your 3 year anniversary, right?" he said, sitting back down with a sigh and looking over at Sherlock.

Has work to do. Using me as an excuse to avoid it. Stayed at someone else's place last night. Maybe a girlfriend. Most likely not.

"I'll get out of here. Wouldn't want to get in the way of any official police business." she said, giving a less than sincere smile and standing up. 

"It's really no trouble." Greg started, a silent plea for her to stay. 

"I'm sure it's not." Sherlock said as she walked out the door.

She had done as Joan suggested, and there were still nearly 3 hours till she would get home. 

Sherlock hailed a cab coming down the road, jumping inside and said the address. 

The taxi started down the road, going left instead of right resulting in at least 145 seconds more driving. Sherlock sighed. 

How horrifically dull.

Sherlock bounced her leg against the car floor and stared out the window as the car took a right. 

37 seconds

Sherlock's phone buzzed in her pocket and she pulled it out revealing a text from Joan.

<3

Sherlock typed back within seconds 

Come home. -SH

Why ?

Bored. -SH

Did you talk to Lestraud?

He didn't have anything. -SH

Oh well. Try the blog maybe?

Nothing. -SH

Well then you'll just have to wait. 

Or you could come home now. -SH

I have to go love. Patients here. Talk to u later <3

Sherlock shoved her phone back into her pocket just as the cab pulled up to Baker Street, a whole 190 seconds late. Sherlock half handed, half tossed the cabbie some money as she climbed out, not bothering with a tip and headed back into the flat.

She flopped down onto the couch and turned on the tv, somewhat content to wait until Joan got home.


	3. Chapter 3

 

Joan came home around 5 o'clock, having gotten off at 430. She plopped down on the couch next to Sherlock and planted a kiss on her forehead.    
  


"Did I miss anything important?" she asked, setting her work bag on the ground next to the couch.   
  


"Me." Sherlock responded, eyes still glued to the TV. It was playing season 5 of True Lives and Loves of the Terribly Rich. Danice had just left her husband because he thought she wasn't ready to own her own store.   
  


She obviously made the right choice.    
  


"I said something important." Joan chuckled. "Whatcha watching?"   
  


Sherlock nodded, obviously oblivious to what she was saying. Joan sighed and turned the screen off and shoving the remote beneath her legs, earning a glare from Sherlock.    
  


"Hi."   
  


"Where's the remote?"   
  


"Oh, nice to see you too." Joan huffed, faking indignance.    
  


"Joan, she just left her husband!" Sherlock whined, lifting up a few of the pillows in a fruitless search for the tv remote.    
  


Joan sighed. "And? I'm sure you've known it was going to happen since season 1."    
  


"Yes well-" Sherlock paused, looking under the couch, "I needed to see if I was right."    
  


"Then why do you need to watch more?"   
  


"To see if I'm right about the rest." Sherlock said matter of factly. She dropped back down next to Joan and glared at her, having figured out where the remote was. "Give me the remote."   
  


"No."   
  


"Why?"   
  


"Because I've just gotten home from 5 hours of dreadfully boring work and need my annoying girlfriend to entertain me." Joan grinned.    
  


Sherlock frowned. "You are insufferable."   
  


Joan barked a laugh. "You're one to talk."   
  


Sherlock attempted to shove Joan of the couch, though she only made herself tired and Joan 

amused. "Whatever happened to you being bored out of your mind waiting for me to get home?"   
  


"You bought cable." Sherlock muttered, her hands fishing underneath Joan in a vain attempt to grab the tv remote.   
  


"Well I'll make sure to cancel the subscription." Joan said, jumping off the couch, remote in hand and walking to the kitchen.   
  


Sherlock trailed behind her, wearing a bemused scowl. "Give me the remote Joan." she whined.   
  


"No." Joan said, opening up the fridge and looking through the less than bountiful contents. "I should go shopping soon." Joan mused, ignoring Sherlock as she snaked her hands around Joan's waist in a less than motivated attempt.   
  


"You should turn the tv back on."   
  


"Your shows probably over already Sher."   
  


Sherlock shrugged, removing her arms from there place around Joan's hips and trudging back to the couch. "You're a terrible girlfriend."   
  


"Oi! Pretty soon you won't have a girlfriend if you keep this up." Joan said, laying down on the couch with her head in Sherlock's lap. "Now, I've just gotten home from a long day at work, and I think I deserve some quality time with someone who I'm not being paid to spend time with."   
Sherlock hummed in response, running her fingers through Joan's hair. "I'll pick some food up later."   
  


"Seriously?" Joan said, looking up.   
  


"Yeah. I've been meaning to go out for something anyway."    
  


"What for?"   
  


"Just something." Sherlock said absent-mindedly, leaning down to peck the tip of Joan's nose.   
Joan sat up on the couch and flipped around to where she was practically sitting on Sherlock's lap and pressed her lips against Sherlock's, pushing back slightly. Sherlock hummed underneath her lips, leaning back against the couch, Joan moving closer towards her.    
Sherlock smiled.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear 3 people who are somewhat invested in this story, how are you? Doing good? Having a nice life?

Joan was pressing Sherlock into the wall, their lips sealed together. Sherlock had her hands wrapped around Joan's waist, fingers barely peeking underneath the hem of her work shirt.

  
"As much as I'm-" Joan paused to give Sherlock another kiss, "enjoying this," another pause, another kiss, "I have to go change."

  
Joan finished, finally stepping out of Sherlock's arms. "Why?" Sherlock grumbled, asking despite already knowing the answer.

  
"Wearing clothes that you had to wear while helping a young girl puke up sleeping pills isn't as sexy as you seem to think it is." Joan responded, already walking down the hall to their bedroom.

  
"I'd beg to differ." Sherlock followed Joan down the hall, less than a centimetre behind her.

  
"You would argue with the Queen that the earth isn't round simply for the purpose of having something to bicker about." Joan countered, sliding through the door.

"Perhaps. We'll have to find out some time." Sherlock muttered, half to herself, following Joan into the bedroom and flipping down onto the bed.

  
Despite years of knowing each other, Sherlock still looked away as Joan changed and sat down on the bed, allowing her the moment of privacy. When Sherlock looked up again she was wearing a pair of loose jeans and an old band T-shirt that had faded beyond recognition. She gave a twirl, smiling like a child as she did. Sherlock gave a small applause, barely tapping her palms together.

  
"Absolutely wonderful performance Mrs. Watson."

  
"Mrs?" Joan said, looking down at Sherlock. "I'm not married you know." She started for the door. "At least not yet." she added, giving Sherlock a wink as she walked out the door.

  
Does she...

  
Sherlock dismissed the thought, weeks worth of evidence piling over the silly notion.

  
Sherlock pulled herself of the bed and stepped out of the bedroom. She followed Joan into the kitchen to where she was making tea. "I'll head out to pick up that food now if you like."

  
Joan hummed, hands busy. "You sure?"

  
"Yeah. I have to go out for something anyway."

  
"What for?"

  
"Just something."  
Joan smiled. "Would this something happen to be an anniversary gift?"

  
"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

  
Sherlock had had reservations at one of the fanciest dance halls in London for weeks. She had special ordered hand made dresses for her and Joan sitting in the closet. She even had a ring. Tommorow night was going to be perfect. They'd dance, eat, drink, and then Sherlock was going to propose. The entire evening had been meticulously planned out.

  
"Well then I'll just forget about giving you your present as well." Joan teased.

  
"I never said you had to do that..."

  
"Well then I'll just choose to forget you saying anything about not getting me a present."

  
Sherlock grinned. "I'll go get the food now then."

  
"Just the food?"

  
"Perhaps."


	5. Chapter 5

Joan had already been asleep for hours when Sherlock came home, but her eyes still slid open when Sherlock dropped down into bed next to her. Joan hummed, a low note that vibrated back through Sherlock's chest.    
  


"You're up late." Joan half whispered, the words slurred together.   
  


"Shopping took time." Sherlock smiled, burying her head in the crook of Joan's neck.   
  


"Did you get groceries?" Joan said, waking up a bit more.    
  


Sherlock was silent, busy pressing kisses against Joan's collarbone.   
  


"Sherlock." Joan said, pulling back with no small amount of hesitancy. "Did you?"   
  
Sherlock sighed. "Of course." She leaned forward to fill in the empty space between them.    
Joan sighed as Sherlock's lips pressed back against her neck, thankful for the day she had off tomorrow. It meant she wouldn't have to worry about the hickeys that Sherlock seemed intent on giving her.   
  


"Sherlock." Joan half spoke half moaned. "I have to sleep."   
  


Sherlock hummed a silent complaint, but wrapped her arms around Joan's waist and removed her lips from her neck.   
  


"You should too you know." Joan yawned.   
"Is that so Doctor?"   
  


Joan grinned at the emphasis Sherlock pressed onto the last word.   
"Save it for tomorrow love. I got the-" Joan paused to yawn again, "whole day off."   
  


"It's already tomorrow." Sherlock said, pulling Joan closer by her waist.    
  


"Well then you can wait a few hours." Joan said, pushing out of Sherlock's arms with a grin made invisible by the dark room.   
  


Sherlock frowned, though Joan couldn't see it, and closed her eyes, determined to get at least a few hours of sleep.   
  
~~~~~~   
  
Joan opened her eyes, the smell of food wafting in from the kitchen. She looked over to find Sherlock missing from the bed. She stood up, brain still thick with the fog of sleep, and padded into the kitchen to find Sherlock standing over the stove. She was humming Tchaikovsky's Waltz of the Flowers while cooking a trio of pancakes. Joan slid up slowly behind Sherlock, hands wrapping around her waist, pressing lazy kisses into the fabric of Sherlock's robe.    
  


"Good morning." Sherlock chuckled, taking one hand away from the breakfast to place it over Joan's.   
  


"Didn't know you could cook." Joan mumbled into Sherlock's shoulder.   
"It's really just basic chemistry. You just have to know the chemical compound that each ingredient contains and then how they react with each other. So when-"   
  


Joan cut her off, having moved in front of her while she was talking, and placed a warm kiss onto Sherlock's lips, hands resting just above the other woman's ass. Sherlock mumbled the end of her sentence into Joan's mouth, before lifting off of her, separating their faces by a few inches.   
  


"The food Joan."   
  


"Ah." Joan said, still frozen in front of Sherlock, the tips of their noses brushing.   
  


"It's going to burn Joan."   
  


"I see."   
  


"You need to move."   
  


"Do I?"   
  


"Yes."   
  


The two remained silent for a moment before Joan dipped back under Sherlock's arm to sit down at the table.

 

"How many hours of sleep did you get?"   
  


"3 hours 47 minutes."   
  


Joan frowned but said nothing, watching as Sherlock lifted the last of the pancakes out of the pan and onto a plate waiting nearby. Sherlock set the plate down in front of Joan, sitting opposite her at the only other spot on the table not filled with lab equipment.Joan bit into the food, mouth flooding with taste. She looked wide-eyed up at Sherlock. "This is delicious."   
  


"Were you expecting otherwise?"   
  


"No, I mean yes, it's just you've never cooked for me before."   
  


"Perhaps I should do it more often."   
  


"Perhaps."   
  


Sherlock nibbled at the corners of her food, not giving it much attention. Joan looked over at her but didn't say anything, busy finishing up her own pancakes.Joan leaned back in her chair as she finished, arms crossed over her chest to look across the table at Sherlock. "So."   
  


"So what?" Sherlock said, looking up, as though she had been focused on eating her food.   
  


"So what have you planned for today?"   
  


Sherlock grinned, the twinkle from it reaching up to her eyes. "Absolutely nothing."   
  


"Nothing at all?" Joan smirked.   
  


"Nothing."   
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aren't my chapter titles so creative guys

Almost 9 hours had passed since breakfast and Sherlock still hadn't done anything. Ever since they started dating every anniversary had been full of presents and surprises. Last year Sherlock had managed to get Joan's favorite band to come play at the flat for them, the year before it had been a week long trip to Hawaii, but Sherlock hadn't done anything for this year yet. Joan had managed to keep the question behind her teeth, but it still seemed to fill the air like a fog. So far all they had done was laze around the flat, switching between watching crap telly and kissing each other senseless.

 

It was around 7 at night and Joan had Sherlock pressed down into the couch cushions, tongue pressed between her lips, wandering around the other woman's mouth. Sherlock hesitantly pushed her off, their lips being the last things to separate .

 

"Let's go out."

 

Joan tilted her head slightly to the side, eyebrows raised. "What?"

 

"Let's go out, like a date."

 

"For dinner? I think I could call up Angelo..." Joan said, righting herself on the couch to face the fireplace.

 

"No." Sherlock said, bouncing up in front of Joan in a silent demand for her attention. "Dancing."

 

Joan sighed, unable to stop the smile arising on her face at sight of Sherlock's childish grin. "Sher, you know I can't dance. Hell, I don't think I've even been out to a club since university.

 

"Please Joan...." Sherlock said, stretching out the vowels in each word.

 

Joan was silent for a moment. It would be rude to say no if this turned out to be the "big surprise" she had been waiting half the day for. Or there was no big surprise and this was just a crazy Sherlock spur of the moment idea.

 

Joan fixed Sherlock with a half serious, half childish, look. "Fine." Joan paused the rest of her words, watching as Sherlock broke out into a giant smile. "But I don't have anything to wear, so you don't get to complain about my dress."

 

Sherlock started walking back to the bedroom. "You won't have to worry about that." Sherlock stopped in the door frame, closing it just enough to where only her face was visible. "Go up to your old room."

 

"Why?" Joan said, stopping in the hallway, hand on one hip.

 

"Because I said so." Sherlock said, backing further away into the bedroom.

 

"Oooo." Joan said, walking back down the hall. "Giving me orders, that's a change."

 

Joan stepped up the stairs, memories of the years before they started dating filtering through her head. She had been up the stairs hundreds of times. Half asleep and exhausted after nights working on a case at the hospital, wheezing and gasping after chasing a murderer through the streets of London. In all those times she never thought she would be walking up them years later with Sherlock Holmes waiting downstairs to go out with her.

 

She grinned at the thoughts and pulled open the door to her old room. They had never bothered to take it off the lease despite that neither Sherlock or Joan had as little as stepped in here in years. Sherlock didn't seem to mind paying the few extra dollars for it anyway.

 

Joan pulled open the door, expecting a cloud of dust collected over years to flood her, and finding something completely different. The room was spotless, Joan's old bed immaculately made, each blanket folded perfectly in a pile.

 

Laying on top of the bed was a gold and silver dress, exactly Joan's size. It was strapless, an elastic band running along the inside frame. The dress was made with a gold fabric, silver vines running along the length of it. The bottom was studied with silver gems, designed to look like a garden of flowers.

Joan's hand flew to her mouth, covering the quickly growing grin beginning to show there. If the dress alone was all she got for tonight, she would have been happy, but knowing Sherlock, that wouldn't be all.

She carefully lifted it off the bed. Her fingers danced lightly over the fabric, as though it would disappear if she pressed any harder.

Joan slipped out of her clothes, pulling the dress on. She silently dropped down the stairs, checking her appearance in the mirror over the fireplace.

The dress looked stunning, though Joan felt it a poor match for herself. It would take a decent amount of carefully done makeup to look anywhere near the quality of the clothes she was wearing.

Joan fussed with her hair for a moment in the mirror, before ducking into the bathroom to grab her makeup bag. Joan stood in front of the mirror, dusting her eyes and lips with a gold powder. She lined her eyes, doing her best to add a somewhat dramatic flair to the look. Joan gave up after a second, starting to walk back up to the bathroom to fix her hair, and maybe add some jewelry when Sherlock stepped out of the bedroom.

She was wearing a gorgeous deep maroon dress that swayed down to the floor, hiding her legs and feet underneath layers of fabric. The dress started slim at the top, decorating every one of the curves that Joan had spent years memorizing in red. It broke out near Sherlock's knees, curling down in roses of color down to the floor. Her hair was tucked behind her shoulders, the light curls swimming down her back.

Joan stood there, silent and unmoving, gawking.

"How do I look?" Sherlock said, a hint of shyness in her voice.

"Breathtaking." Joan whispered, stepping forward to pull Sherlock into a hard open mouth kiss, the lust behind it practically palatable. Sherlock pressed down into her, hands weaving around Joan's upper waist.

Joan pulled away, their lips still barely brushing. "I should go-" she stepped back an inch or two "fix myself up."

The end of her sentence came out as a whisper, and she turned to the bathroom to fix her makeup. Before she was able to pull open the door, Sherlock grabbed her arm, lightly but still enough to get her to stop.

"You look perfect, Joan." Sherlock smiled, staring down into her eyes.

Joan said nothing, pink and red rising in her cheeks. She opened her mouth to start a sentence, but the words never came out.

"There's a car waiting outside. I'll be waiting for you." Sherlock said, sliding past Joan and down the stairs.

Joan could smell the faint traces her perfume left in the air.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably write longer chapters at some point but whatever. Oh and I should probably mention at this point that there's a 97% chance that this fic isn't gonna have a happy ending. Just so ya know.

Joan stared at the empty hallway, listening to Sherlock step out the door. She grinned, shaking her head. 

Joan stepped into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Her hair looked alright, it wasn't too fancy but it would work. She ran a few fingers through the blonde strands before stepping out of the bathroom. She grabbed a clutch bag from the bedroom and threw her phone in it, racing down the stairs after Sherlock. She opened the front door, expecting to find a cab waiting, but instead discovered something quite different.

Sitting next to the curb was a black limo, stretched out along the road. A chauffeur wearing a white tuxedo opened up one if the door for her, gesturing towards it with a gloved hand. "Ma'am."

Joan hesitantly stepped forward. "Thank you." she said to the man, giving him a small smile. She slid into the limo, finding a wide eyed and grinning Sherlock seated across from her. 

The door snapped closed as she sat down, the engine starting a few seconds later.

"A limo Sherlock?!" she gasped, trying to sound upset, though the emotion didn't really reach her words. Sherlock just smiled back at her, seated comfortably on the black fabric. 

"Are you crazy?" Joan smiled, shaking her head.

"It's up for debate." Sherlock returned, a call tone taking her words.

"You know I would have been just as happy with a night in with you."

Sherlock shrugged. "This is more eccentric."

Joan grabbed Sherlock hands from where they were sitting in her lap. "Thank you."

Sherlock looked taken aback for a moment, but she quickly changed it, reverting back to a calm collected look. "It's no problem love."

Joan grinned at Sherlock and leaned back in the seats, eyes trailing up towards the ceiling. "God, I feel like I'm in 9th grade again taking Mary Morstan to the dance."

"Well I'm sure I'm much prettier than her." Sherlock said with a wink.

Joan grinned back at her. "I don't know, she was fairly beautiful. Most of the guys, and some of the girls, in the school fancied her."

"Makes it even less believable that you actually got her to go with you."

"I got you to date me."

"I believe I asked you out."

"You got me kidnapped by a serial killer so you could prove to the police that you were right."

"And they say romance is dead."

Joan was about to respond when the car pulled to a halt.

Sherlock looked out the tinted window. "Looks like we've arrived."

The door was pulled open by someone, and Joan started to step about before turning to look back at Sherlock. "If this is all just an elaborate plan to murder me I'll never forgive you."

Sherlock stepped out after her, offering Joan her arm. "You do have to admit, if I am going to kill you, I am quite dedicated."

Joan hummed a response and the two of them started towards the entrance.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a slightly longer chapter. Don't worry though, things won't stay this happy for long. *wink* Actually that's probably not a good thing but whatever. I just figured you'd like a warning.

The two of them stepped inside, arms linked at the elbow. Sherlock muttered something to one of the staff standing nearby, and a moment later a voice came out of speakers lining the room ahead.

“Dr. Joan Watson and Ms. Sherlock Holmes.” 

The two of them stepped through the archway, the eyes of the room floating towards them. Joan cast her head down, the attention an unwelcome surprise, while Sherlock kept her chin level with the ground, giving off a purposeful air of class. 

The room was beautiful, a giant hall adorned in gold and maroon. Moonlight streamed in from a trio of windows, dipping everyone in the room in light. There was a large circle near the back that had been left open for dancing. A few couples spun around it, swaying to the finishing lines of a classical piece.

Sherlock led Joan to a table in one of the more private corners of the room. The two of them sat down and Sherlock called over a waiter, ordering something in Latin. The waiter scurried off, leaving the two of them sitting opposite each other, knees barely brushing under the table.

Joan stared across the table at Sherlock, gaping. “How the hell did you manage to get a reservation at a place like this?!”

Sherlock grinned, a sly, coy, smirk. “My sister owed me a favor.”

Joan chuckled to herself, about to say something when the waiter reappeared, a bottle of wine and two glasses in hand.

Sherlock thanking him and took the glasses and bottle, placing them on the table. She poured each of them a small glass and slid one over to Joan.

Joan pulled the cup to her lips, taking a small sip of it. Her mouth exploded at the taste. It must have been years old. It burned with the taste of smoke and apple, a hint of cinnamon in the back.

“So do you like it then?” Sherlock said with a grin at Joan. She turned the label of the bottle to face her.

1850\. Holy shit.

“I love it.” Joan gasped, shaking her head slightly. “How can you afford this? I know you have money, but certainly not this much.”

Sherlock dismissed the comment, pushing it away with a wave of her hand, and taking a sip from her own glass. “Like I said, my sister owed me a favor.”

 

Joan smiled. “You certainly know what to ask for.”

Sherlock shrugged. “It seemed a good fit for the evening.”

“You know, usually when people take you out dancing that just go to a club, or a bar.”

“This is a club, of sorts.”

“For the incredulously rich?”

Sherlock grinned. “Look around Joan. Its a-” she paused, trying to think of the right word. “specific kind of club.”

Joan glanced around the room. At first glance, nothing seemed out of place, but Joan soon realised what Sherlock had meant. All the other couples in the place seemed to only be pairs of men or woman.

Joan turned back to Sherlock with a smile. “You took me to a gay bar?”

“It's more of a dance hall, than a bar, but yes.”

Joan smiled over at Sherlock, still a little disbelieving. “You are certainly one of the most entertaining people I've ever dated.”

“I do try to be.” 

Sherlock looked down at the watch on her wrist. About 7 minutes. She smiled to herself.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys sorry it took a while to update. Here's another quick chapter, and sorry in advance.

Joan finished her glass, a pink flush rising in her cheeks. “So what exactly are we here for?”

Sherlock looked over at her, a practiced face of confusion on. “What do you mean?”

“If you wanted to go dancing I could have just gotten out my old record player and played whatever record we could find with a waltz on it.” 

Sherlock shrugged. “Perhaps you could be onto something.” Sherlock poured Joan another glass of wine. “Though a small amount of evidence suggests against it.” 

Joan pulled the glass back across from Sherlock. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about.”

3 minutes. 

Sherlock glanced over to a worker in the back of the room. He smiled back at her, giving a small nod of his head. 

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“That.” Joan said, gesturing strangely around the room.

Sherlock grinned. “Give me your hand.”

Joan grinned across the table. She passed Sherlock her hand, laying the other one on the table. 

“Joan.”

“Sherlock.”

“Dance with me?”

“Of course.”

The two of them stood up together, hands still linked. 

They were about 20 feet from the table when Joan's phone started to ring. She paused and turned around.

“Do you-”

“Go ahead.” Sherlock said, watching as she walked back to the table.

Joan pulled open her clutch and grabbed her phone. It was the clinic. She answered the phone. “Hello?”

Sherlock stood back watching her, hands folded behind her back. It would be fine. It was probably just Harry congratulating her. 

Sherlock watched Joan's face contort. “You're kidding.”

Joan pressed a hand to her forward. “Can't you call someone else?” She looked over at Sherlock. “I'm kinda in the middle of something.”

She frowned. “How soon do I need to be there?”

“Okay, okay. Give me ten minutes.”

Joan dropped down into her seat. Sherlock stepped over, sitting down across from her. “What happened?”

“It was the clinic. The hospital we're stationed in needs me to come in.” she shook her head and frowned down at the table. “There was a 2 bus crash on the highway they want me to come in for a surgery.”

Sherlock was silent for a moment. “Okay.”

Joan stared up at her. “Sher I'm so sorry I didn't mean for-”

“It's okay love, go ahead.” Sherlock smiled. It was fine, there was always another night. 

Joan stood up slowly. “I'm sorry.”

“I'm serious, it’s okay. Go.”

Joan kissed her, lingering for a moment. “Thank you.” she gave Sherlock's hand a quick squeeze before running out the door.Sherlock watched her leave, an empty pit settling in her stomach. 

 

She dropped the box she had been holding in her hands on the table stepped out the doors. Sherlock pulled of her heels, not bothering to call a cab, and started down the street. 

It was stupid to be upset, and Sherlock knew, but she didn't care. She had been working to plan this night for months, and it was over in a few seconds and a phone call.

She stopped on the corner of a street. 

 

You're two miles away.

Sherlock sighed and pulled her phone out of her bag. She dialed a number quickly. 

“Michelle?”

“How is your evening going, Sherlock?” came a familiar harshly British voice.

“Send a car.”

“Isn't it a little early for a car home?”

“Send. A. Car.”

A sigh came over the phone. “It'll be there in 5 minutes.”

Sherlock leaned against the wall of the building behind her, closed her eyes, and waited.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sigh things are gonna go downhill soon so if you don't like angsty fics I suggesting backing off.

The car pulled up 6 minutes and 27 seconds later. Sherlock opened the door and stepped in, toes unconsciously curling against the cool floor of the vehicle. It was a limo, black, fancy, painfully like her sister. 

Sitting across from Sherlock in another set of leather seats was her sister, dressed in a gray pencil skirt and work top. 

“Sherlock-”

“Don't.” Sherlock said, cutting her off before she had fully started. “Don't give me the big sister I know more than you talk I'm not on drugs, unfortunately, and I haven't attempted suicide in almost 2 years.”

Michele was silent for a moment, face utterly void of emotion. 

“Oh, and you're late.”

“I was late because we had to stop to pick up this.”

Michele pushed a small black box into Sherlock's lap. She glanced down for a second, frowned, and then picked it up. Sherlock flipped it open.

Sitting inside, hugged by sheets of black leather was a ring. Thin silver band with one prismarine stone in the center. Simple, elegant, absolutely perfect for Joan.

Sherlock looked up at Michele. “Why?”

“I'm going to need more than one word to actually answer your question.”

“Why do you care?” Sherlock said back, matching the other woman's monotone voice. 

She grinned, silent, just as the car pulled up to Baker Street. Sherlock glowered at her before stepping out of the car.

The familiar building looked warped in the night, more like someone else's home, and not hers. Sherlock cautiously stepped up to the door, pushing it open. 

A small amount of light was filtering out from under Ms. Hudson's door, illuminating the corridor just slightly. Sherlock started to walk up the stairs when her phone buzzes in her hand. Text from Joan.

I'm still sorry about tonight love. I know it won't make up for everything you had planned tonight, but if you want your present check under our bed. Love you <3

 

Sherlock smiled unconsciously, stepping up the stairs with slightly lighter feet. She pulled open the door to their flat and stepped inside, flicking on the lights.

She walked to the bedroom, pulling off her dress the second she got inside. Sherlock pulled off her bra and threw it on the bed, dressing in one of almost a dozen robes. 

Sherlock bent down to look under the bed. There was a black bad about arms length underneath, a white ribbon tied around it. She pulled it out and sat down on the bed, container in her lap. 

There was a card on top. Sherlock pulled it open. 

Here's to another great year with you, and hopefully many more. I love you ~Joan

She lifted off the lid. Laying inside was a Stradivarius Violin, one of the most expensive instruments in the world, fetching a price of almost 80 million pounds. Sherlock lifted it carefully out of the casing, dragging the bow laying next to it across the strings. 

The whole room vibrated with sound, a low melancholy note that Sherlock could feel behind her ribs. A grin spread across her face unconsciously. 

She started to play, standing up off the bed, her eyes closing. It was a slow sad song. Sherlock had been playing it the first time her and Joan met. She had spent weeks composing it. It followed the style of a funeral march, though Sherlock had added in a back note of happiness, almost as though the player was reminiscent of better days. 

The song was hauntingly beautiful on its own, but the instrument only added to it, making the sound echo around Sherlock like it was playing on its own.

She finished, and slowly opened her eyes. The final note floated around the room for a second before fading and disappearing.

It was perfect. Perhaps not as grand as the night Sherlock had planned, but still perfect. 

Sherlock picked up her phone and texted Joan back.

Thank you. I'll give you a performance when you get home. -SH

Sherlock picked up the violin again, and started another song.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Augh sorry for not updating sooner but here I am. I really need to write longer chapters, but what's more important, updating or a good length chapter? Don't answer that.

Joan hadn't said anything since that text and it had been almost 6 hours. Sherlock was folded up in her chair, eyes closed, but not sleeping. It was nearly 1 in the morning.

 

If Joan didn't say anything in the next 30 minutes she would head down to the hospital.

In forsite it was probably a bad idea, but at the time it seemed rational. Though, most of Sherlock's ideas seem rational in the heat of the moment. 

 

Sherlock remained still for another moment before hopping up off the chair. If anyone had been in the room to watch, it would have been an impressive feat, but no one was. Her robe fluttered to the ground behind her, making a small thump noise as it hit the ground. 

 

Sherlock trailed through the kitchen, poking through various cabinets and drawers. She wasn't really looking for anything, just finding a way to pass the time. After about 3 drawers and 4 cabinets, she found something interesting.

 

Sitting in the corner of the almost empty silverware drawer was a small microphone, a tiny red light above it shining out into the room. Sherlock pulled it up, a cluster of wires pulling out with it from where they had been tucked. 

 

Sherlock frowned at it and dropped it on the ground, crushing it under her foot. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and sent a text to Michele. 

 

_ Micing my flat again? I thought we had gotten past that point in our relationship years ago. _

_ -Sh _

 

In less than a minute she responded.

 

_ I haven't had recording devices of any sort in their since late June. You kept breaking them. _

 

Sherlock stared down at the response. Either she was lying or...

 

Who else would want to keep eyes on her?

 

Of course there were plenty of killers and thieves that would want to, but all of them were in prison. She mentally checked through the list, scanning the last few weeks of headlines she had seen to find out if any of them had gotten parol.

 

No one. 

 

Sherlock's eyebrows knitted themselves together. She picked up her phone again and sent a quick text to Joan.

 

_ Are you okay? _

_ -SH _

 

Sherlock flopped back down in her chair and waited, 5 minutes, then 10. No response. She was about to head down to the hospital then when her phone started ringing. Without looking at the caller id Sherlock answered.

 

"Hello?"

 

"Get to the station. Now."

 

"Lestraud? Why?"

 

There was a long pause, as though he was trying to be kind with his next words. "Joan is.....in trouble."

 

Sherlock hung up the phone the second he finished speaking. Her mind was racing, trying to pull any explanation for the hurried phone call. It only took her about a second to realise that "in trouble" probably meant a lot more than being arrested.

 

Sherlock darted to the bedroom, pulling her black trenchcoat over the dress she hadn't managed to change out of.  She grabbed her phone off the couch, and was halfway down the stairs before she stopped.

 

"You're acting erratically." came Michelle's voice from the back of her mind.

 

"My girlfriend might be dead." Sherlock responded, not sure if she had said it out loud or not.

 

She finished her way down the stairs, going only slightly slower than before. She stopped outside of Mrs. Hudson's flat, ducking her head inside. "Mrs Hudson?"

 

No response.She was probably asleep.

 

"I'm going out!" Sherlock said, stepping back before adding in another sentence. "Tell me if Joan calls!"

 

She stepped out the door, not surprised to find one of Michelle's government cars waiting outside. 

  
Sherlock slid through the door, taking a quick look back at 221B before the car sped off.


	12. Chapter 12

 

The car stopped in front of the police station exactly 7 minutes 38 later. Sherlock practically ran out, cursing when her dress got caught in the car door.

 

She pulled the door open, yanked the now damaged fabric out, and ran into the police station.

 

People turned to the door, surprised by her sudden entrance. She must have looked mad, wild black hair wearing a now tattered red dress and a winter coat. If Sherlock had been anyone else, she would have been embarrassed.

 

Sherlock smoothed down her dress, and waltzed to the front desk, maintaining and eerie calm. "Hi, I'm here to see D.I. Lestraud."

 

The young woman sitting at the desk looked up at her. "I'm sorry Ms, he's busy at the moment. Is there a message I can send to him on your behalf?"

 

Her voice was layered over with fake cheeriness, but it didn't hide her displeasure at having a strange woman barge in at 2 in the morning demanding to see the Detective Inspector. 

 

Sherlock smiled, adopting the same sweet voice the receptionist was talking to her with. "Please let him know that Sherlock Holmes is here to see him and if he isn't in the lobby in the next 3 minutes, I will personally see to it that his entire livelihood is ripped to shreds."

 

The woman gawked up at her. Sherlock smiled kindly at her, taking a seat in the mostly empty waiting room. She glanced back at the receptionist. She was talking hurriedly into the phone, sparing a few not-so-nice glances at Sherlock.

 

Sherlock sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. Joan was probably fine, sitting in some cell in the back of the station for drinking and driving. Sherlock held onto the not very sound lie, forcing herself to believe, despite the urgency in Lestraud's voice when he called, that her Joan was okay.

 

She opened her eyes at the sound of cheap heels approaching her. The woman from the desk was standing a few feet away from her chair, hands folded behind her back, a fake grin plastered on her face. "If you wouldn't mind coming this way."

 

Sherlock followed the woman for a moment, before walking past her, already certain of where they were heading. "Don't worry sweetheart, I know my way around." she said, winking back at the receptionist. The woman glared in return.

 

She stepped into Lestraud's office, making sure to close the door behind her. "Well? I'm here." Despite her best efforts, the words still came out sharp and accusatory. 

 

He looked up at her. The pity in his eyes was practically palatable. "Nice dress." 

 

Sherlock looked down at the fabric. Most of the fabric surrounding the hem was ruining, but the dress overall still retaining it's sharp blood color. "Thanks. Had it hand made." 

 

She decided not to push him too much for information. It would be better to let the conversation take its natural course. Whatever happened to Joan must be serious for him to even try with pleasantries.

 

He seemed relieved she hadn't been as forward as usual. "It shows, perfect fit."

 

Sherlock nodded, uncertain how to continue. "So Joan."

 

Lestraud sighed. "About 10 minutes before I called you an unmarked envelope was placed at the front desk by an anonymous person." 

 

He leaned back in his chair, preparing for the next few words. "We're used to this sort of stuff, get tips like it all the time, so no one thought anything of it. They sent it through screening, found nothing and then passed it off to me."

 

He pulled open one of the drawers in the desk, and took out a cd. "It was a message for you." He passed the cd of to Sherlock and she turned it over in her hands. 

 

The case was simple, unmarked. Whoever had sent this knew how to cover their tracks, no fingerprints, no scratches. Sherlock opened the case, balancing the cd between her fingers. "CD player?" she asked, glancing over at him. He stood up and walked into the hall, giving her a quick look before leaving. 

 

She looked down at the disc. Whatever was on here had something to do with Joan. Incriminating evidence? Doubtful. Lestraud had said message. Maybe it was from Joan? Just as doubtful.

 

Sherlock checked off a few more possibilities, each was as unlikely as the last. She was about to set the disc back in it's case when Lestraud walked back in, rolling an old TV and CD player behind him. "What's on it?" she said, looking up at him and gesturing with the cd.

 

"It's better if you see for yourself."

 

"Dramatic." Sherlock muttered under her breath. She turned on the TV and slid the disc. Sherlock flipped off the lights and sat down in one of the chairs. 

  
"Have any popcorn?" she said, flashing a childish grin back at him.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah you guys are probably gonna hate me for this one. And the next few, Yeah pretty much all of them to the end. Well never say I didn't warn you? Yeah... Sorry.

_ 3 years ago _

Joan stepped into the bar, unconsciously pulling her coat closed. The place was nice, as far as dive bars go, but she was still uncomfortable to have so many eyes wandering towards her.

 

Harry had suggested this place. He said it would be nice for her to get out there again. It had been nearly a year since Elizabeth, and her brother had been not so subtly suggesting that it was about time she had gotten over it.

 

Joan sat down at the bar, thankful that the seats next to her were empty. She ordered gin from the barkeep, mentally cursing him when he gave her a condescending grin.

 

She looked around the room, catching a not so kind looking man staring straight at her ass. 

Joan shifted back towards the bar. The dress she was wearing wasn't particularly flattering, but she thought it suited her. It was a plain red, matching the small rose earrings she was wearing.

 

Joan had hoped that it would be basic enough that she wouldn't have to worry about anyone's attention. Clearly she was wrong, going by the threatening looking man heading towards the bar. 

 

She took a sip of her drink, averting her eyes. He was about to sit down when someone else slipped down into the seat he had been eyeing, though the only thing Joan caught of them was a grayish-black coat.

 

_ Present (ish) _

 

Sherlock reached a few feet forward, pressing play on the frankly ancient CD player. The screen blurred with static for a second before switching to a dark room, a hunched figure sitting in a mental chair in the center.

 

"Oh my god." Sherlock said,  pressing a closed fist to her mouth.

 

_ Stop distracting yourself, it'll just get in the way of finding her _

 

Joan was slumped over in the chair, unconscious. Her face was barely visible, but the part of it Sherlock could see was pressed over with bruises, a hue of blues and blacks. The ends of her hair were matted with blood, stands stuck to her skin.

 

"Hello Sherrie." came a woman's voice from behind the camera. "How are you doing?" she said, the end of the question bouncing cheerfully.

 

_ Stop it. Push it down. You need to focus. Think. _   


"See, we have a small problem, you and I. I've got your little pet."

 

"Bastard." Sherlock hissed at the screen.

 

_ Objective, remember? Remove yourself. She's just some woman, you don't even know her. _

"And, as much as I've enjoyed," the speaker paused, finding the best way to deliver the next words, "playing with her, I think it's time you and I got to talking instead."

 

Sherlock felt her nails pressing into her hand.

 

_ Breath, think, stop. _

__

 

__

"I've wanted to meet for such a long time, Sherrie dear, it just never really seemed right until now. 3 year anniversary and all, you've got to admit, that really does pack a punch." the last words come forced, as though the speaker new exactly how Sherlock would react. 

__

 

__

_ Stop. Think. Stop. _

____

 

____

"Anyway, since I'm feeling extra nice today, I'll give you, let's say, 24 hours to find your little goldfish, or else, well, I'll kill her of course." There was a small pause, and you could hear the cocking of a gun in the background. "Best of luck."

____

 

____

The image froze, then cut back to static.  

____

 

____

Sherlock bit down on her knuckle, closing her eyes.  _ Think, breath. Clear your. She doesn't matter, just a client. Think. _

_____ _

 

_____ _

"I'm so sorry Sher-" 

_____ _

 

_____ _

"Would you shut up Lestraud!" she snapped back at him, surprised at how close the voice sounded to her sister's.

_____ _

 

_____ _

He seemed taken aback for a moment, before nodding. He gave her a pitied smile, before stepping out the door, closing it far too gently behind him.

_____ _


End file.
